


to step into the void

by PaladinofFarore



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:40:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24600196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaladinofFarore/pseuds/PaladinofFarore
Summary: Catra steps into a fractured world.There, in her quest to find a lost queen, she encounters an angel, a demon, and a devil.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Angella/Micah (She-Ra), Bow/Glimmer (She-Ra)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 175





	to step into the void

She leaves in the hours of the early morning. 

The evening before had been a joyous one. A party, one of countless at Brightmoon Castle, to celebrate the engagement of Queen Glimmer and Master Archer Bow. There’s been singing and dancing and the telling of childhood stories, the light catching the crystalline earrings worn by the betrothed. 

Catra for her part kept it cool. She laughed and joked with the rest, danced with Adora, who as always was the terrifying sort of beautiful that nearly made her break just from looking. She didn’t meet the eyes of her conspirators. She congratulated her friends, hugging Glimmer close and smacking Bow on the back. 

That camaraderie, that friendship she shared with them was exquisite torture. Their forgiveness, freely and sincerely given, stung worse than knives. 

A few hours later she slipped silently out of bed, urging a stubborn Melog to stay put, and placed a letter for Adora on the nightstand. She wanted to reach out and brush a strand of hair from her face.

Instead she allowed herself one moment more, then turned to go. 

She made her way to the makeshift spaceport in just under half an hour. The early morning roads were twisted with mist. The return of magic had put something primal in the air that hadn’t been there before. 

Catra savored each breath.

The newly restored salvage vessel, dubbed Polly by its captain, was already humming with energy when she arrived. Scorpia was loading the last of a series of equipment crates into the loading ramp. The broad shouldered princess looked up and smiled. 

“Morning wildcat,” she stepped forward and hugged her, lightly. Restraint was a skill she’d been carefully learning under Perfuma’s instruction.

“Good morning,” Catra said, returning the hug. “Th-thanks for coming.” She whispered for a reason she couldn’t explain. 

Scorpia nodded.

“You got it.” 

She would never, Catra decided, deserve the friendships she’d gained and regained in the last eighteen months. Scorpias most of all. 

Together the two of them step onto the ship and find the rest of their assembled crew. 

Perfuma was on the far right of the enormous common area that dominated the ships center. She’d set up a variety of medical supplies beside a metal cot that looked like it had seen better days. She’d changed into a new dress from the one she’d been wearing the night before, though Catra could only tell due to the scent. It was freshly washed and lacked the smell of wine and food. 

It did have just a hint of Scorpia on it though. 

She looked up as they entered and smiled, thinly. 

“I don’t like lying about this, Catra,” she says for perhaps the thirtieth time in the last week. “I don’t like it one bit.” 

“I know, Perfuma,” Catra says. She can’t help but bring up her hands, palms outward, in a small gesture of defense. “But this is...this is something I have to do without them. Without Adora.” 

She didn’t want to raise hopes only to dash them on the floor. 

“And besides, Bow is in on it.” 

He had been in on it from the start. During their trips into space the two of them had huddled together in Darla’s tiny kitchen, gathering data and plotting for just this possibility. 

Perfuma nods. 

“I got the package he left for me on the balcony.” She reached across the table and retrieved it. A glass bottle partially wrapped in a cloth. Inside sparkled light. Perfuma’s face softened. “I am proud of you, Catra.” 

She’d said that before during one of their meditation sessions. It never failed to bring a blush to Catra’s cheeks. 

“Thank you,” Catra says. “And thanks...both of you.” 

“Of course,” says Perfuma. Scorpia just smiles. 

Catra turned and made her way deeper into the bowels of the ship. It would be clear to anyone who knew them exactly who the craft belonged to. One side room, the kitchen, had a counter full of tiny cupcakes arranged in a pyramid. Another was stacked high with robotic parts and a rusty, alien looking contraption. 

She passed Hordak as she entered the command module of the ship. They exchanged a nod and nothing else. 

Since the war's end they had made a silent agreement to never speak again. That was made easy by his permanent exile from Etheria. On the few occasions when Entrapta visited instead of calling, he was required by law to stay on the ship, or else be struck down by She-Ra, his life forfeit.. It was an edict signed by every princess of the alliance and Adora herself. For occasions like this, when they had to work together, a nod was enough. 

Entrapta was at the control panel, one pigtail fiddling with a wrench, the other examining a large schematic. 

“Oh good, you're here!” she said, glancing up. Her facemask was askew. Catra noted she was wearing some kind of makeup on her cheeks. She didn’t ask. She had decided to never inquire into the bizarre fuckery that was the scientists relationship with the former conqueror. 

“Yeah,” Catra said. “We good to go?” 

She was getting twitchy at that point. The lack of sleep and the anticipation were vibrating through her body. The guilt was spiking too. That shroud of darkness that weighed her down. She’d had the nightmares again the night before. Like she did most nights. 

“Almost,” the scientist confirmed. “Coordinates are locked in. Moon signature is strong but kind of wonky, the old girl’s sensors aren’t quite used to magic yet. Garhne sector, about a day from here. You have your pass?” 

Catra nodded and pulled from her a pocket the sleek black identification card, a metal square about the size of her palm. Since wars end she had thrown herself into work. With Glimmer, she had started to build Etheria’s relations with other worlds, to coordinate the reconstruction of the universe. Between the two of them they had written and negotiated treaties and formed new alliances. 

Catra was known on several dozen worlds as a diplomat of Brightmoon. On a few she was rumored to be She-ra’s lover, but this was a fact they did their best to keep hidden much of the time. It could cause incidents, and She-Ra was a figure of outright divinity to many. Keeping that image helped the process of unity greatly. 

Glimmer paid her an impressive salary for the work. Every bit of it had gone to the rebuilding of Salineas. Mermista hadn’t commented on this, and Catra was glad. 

Using her diplomatic pass for this mission might’ve technically qualified as a violation. Interplanetary law was proving very quickly to be ludicrously intricate. Catra found that she didn’t care. 

Entrapta took it with a pigtail and slapped it into the control panel. There was a beep in response, and without any further preamble the ship rumbled to life. 

“Thanks…” Catra said when they were off planet. 

In front of them, the expanse of stars was spread out like a mosaic as they pulled away from Etheria. 

“Thanks,” she tried again, the word still hard on her throat, on her mind, on her heart. It and the word ‘sorry’ were great hurdles, still. “Thanks for doing this, Entrapta.” 

The scientist turned to look at her then. 

“You’re welcome,” she says. “It will be interesting to revisit the experiment….” there’s fear in her voice when she says it. None of her usual enthusiasm for all things scientific and theoretical. There is genuine, cold fear in her words. Catra feels it too. Feels the guilt again, feels the taser in her hand as she jabs it into the tech-princess’ body. 

“I know it will be dangerous,” an understatement. They’d been having this exact conversation on loop for months over wireless. Going over the risks, the components and the necessary circumstances. “But I have to do this.” 

Entrapta gives no visual or verbal response at first, but Catra can see understanding in her eyes. 

“You’re...you’re not the only one who has things to make up for.” 

That was a conversation they’d been having without having it. Their is chasm between the two of them, between the wounds they have inflicted on the world. But as bad with people as Entrapta is, she knows there are craters where there were once villages because of her robots. Her guilt is lighter, but it is far from absent. 

They fall into silence, and they begin their trek into space.

They reach the spot within thirty-six hours. 

Not far into the Garhe sector, the sight is wedged between an asteroid belt and a dusty husk that had once been a planet before Prime had drained it. Entrapta brings the ship to a stop between two cosmic graveyard, and they get to work. 

They assemble in the cargo hold. It is there that Entrapta and Hordak have built it. Catra had avoided going to see it for much of the voyage. When she finally did she thought she might catch flame at the sight of it. The new portal is almost an exact replica of the original. The coloring of the metal is different, its made from interstellar scrap metal, not the steel of the Fright Zone, but its construction is much the same. 

Catra notes at once that it is a button, not a leaver, that serves as its point of activation. She shoots a glance at Hordak who sits at the far rear of the hold, draped in shadow. The change in apparatus was certainly his idea. She finds herself feeling thankful. 

“Ok,” she says, stepping in front of the portal and bringing her hands together. “Let’s go over it one more time before we get started.” She strangles another thank you, another plea of gratitude in her throat. “Entrapta will activate the portal, and I’ll enter it.” 

She’s already dressed in a protective suit, a modified version of a void suit. This too has compartments on the helmets for her ears. 

“You will have thirty minutes,” Hordak rumbles. “That is all we can alot you.” 

“I’ll be standing guard at the portal,” Scorpia says. She scratches at the back of her neck with one pincer. “I still think I should go with you, wildcat. It's too dangerous.” 

“That’s exactly why you need to stay,” says Catra, firmly. “If something goes wrong, you can either pull me out or shut the thing down. You have enough juice for that?”

Scorpia nods, tugging at the pendant around her neck. It glows black and red, her own personal reserve of the Black Garnets power. Sourcing magic in the void of space could be difficult. 

“If I’m not back before the time limit and it won’t turn off, pull the plug, ok?” she tries to say it gently. She mostly succeeds. Hesitantly, Scorpia nods. 

Catra gestures to Perfuma. 

“I’ll have the medical bay ready,” she says, hands folded in front of her. “I have the Moon Stone reserves ready to go if Queen Angella needs them.” She too wears an amulet of magic, though her powers aren’t necessarily to heal. In truth, Catra had asked her there to play medic because she trusted her. And because she wanted a face that the lost queen wouldn’t associate with the Horde. 

Entrapta laces up to the portal. She examines one of the coils at its base, adjusts it, then looks to Catra. 

“I can’t be sure what you’ll find in there,” she explains. “I’ve spent the last month running the numbers but there isn’t a template for sixth dimensional physics like this. Any data I run could be undone in a millisecond.” She adjusts her mask. “My best estimate is that you’ll be dealing with a sort of cognitive landscape.”

“Cognitive what now?” Scorpia scratches her head.

“Memories,” Entrapta tries again. “The portal builds its structures from thought. Memories. You’ll probably find things familiar to you in there. Or to Queen Angella. She’s been in there longer. The environment may well have adapted to her psyche.”

“Ok…” Catra says. “I’ll keep an eye out for some fucked up shit. My brain’s not a nice place to be.” Perfuma shoots her a disapproving look, which she ignores. She’ll deal with that as it comes. Entrapta secures a timer to her wrist timed for exactly half an hour. 

Catra shares a hug with each of her princess companions, and offers Hordak a nod. 

“Good luck,” Perfuma says, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “We’ll be here waiting.” 

_____________________________________________________________________

Catra steps into a fractured world. 

There, in her quest to find a lost queen, she encounters an angel, a demon, and a devil. 

The first step is into the gardens of Brightmoon. They are nothing like the ones Catra knew. They were far denser, more filled with flowers that bloomed with their own inner light. Its a beautiful sight, one that is ruined when Catra looks up to find that there are in fact three skies. 

One is a bright cloudless day, one is the purest of night, and one is of silver fire that dances eternally. 

Looking away from the sky, Catra turns to the castle. It's right where it should be, Moonstone glittering before it. 

She clenches her fists and moves forward. 

There are no guards. Or least, no permanent ones. The ones she does see flicker in and out of being as she goes. None of them seem to mind the magicat in a strange suit pacing through the halls. When Catra peers inside the rooms along the hall she finds them full of shifting furniture. One moment it's a study, the next it's a daughter's bedroom. The next is the entirety of the Fright Zone, boiling and filled with pain. 

She continues, and that’s when the memories begin. They are quick flashes. Moments in time that play through in an instant. Meeting Micah, a charming young sorcerer with the kindest heart Angella has ever known. Their wedding, the birth of Glimmer. A thousand moments between the three of them, infinite in their warmth and their value. 

Catra grins. Sparkles is a cute kid. Always a little chubby, but always determined, eyes always on the prize. The two of them are so alike it stings sometimes. That was why they’d become so close, despite everything that had happened between them. 

“We’re two of the biggest fuck-ups in the universe,” Glimmer had told her one evening as they poured over a treaty. Dinner was in cartons on the table among their papers and they were seated back to back on their bench. Adora was passed out on the couch in the corner, exhausted from shaking the hand of no less than five hundred dignitaries desperate to meet the savior of creation. Bow had went to bed. “Makes sense we’d work well together.” 

Catra had smirked. 

“Wouldn’t that mean we’d do good together ruining everything? I know that mixup at the consulate was bad, but it all worked out in the end.” It sort of had. 

Glimmer had shrugged. 

“I don’t know. But we’re both driven to get the job done. Both like being in charge. Speaking of which, if you ever plan a coup against me, let me know first. I’d like time to get somewhere nice to flee set up.” 

Catra laughed. 

“That ready to hand the big job over?” 

“I’m moments away from abdicating every day,” Glimmer said with perfect sincerity. “And you’d be good at it. Put those old scary conquering warlord muscles to use.” 

Those memories fade as she walks, and are replaced by harsher images. The war against the Horde. The news of Micah’s death. 

And interspersed throughout these are memories of something much further back. Of a silvery city far away from Etheria, of children with wings dancing before an uncaring throne. Of flight. 

Catra realizes, for not the first time, that she knows almost nothing of Queen Angella. 

She finds what she seeks in the dining room. 

Her timing is naturally awful. 

As she steps into the room, it shifts. The moment she entered it was a great sight. Food piled high, Angella and Micah seated side by side at the head of the table, a giggling, toddler version of Glimmer squealing in her chair. The next moment, the next blink, the lights have been extinguished. 

Micah and Glimmer are gone. And in their place are two men Catra has never seen before. 

_“It’s all a cognitive fiction,”_ Entrapta had explained about the portal. _“A mental landscape made of memories.”_

The man closest to Catra is broad shouldered and practically bronze in color. His hair is bronze-blonde, like honey, and on his back is a pair of brilliantly white wings. He wears a suit of fine armor, and a sword hangs at his hip. 

“You were always a coward, sister,” the man says, sounding regretful. “But to flee so far? That is so disappointing.” 

“For once you and I can agree on something, brother dear,” the other man says. He too is blonde, but it is a white sort of blonde, nearly milky in its coloring with a complexion to match. His wings are blacker than night. 

“Silence, Morningstar,” the first man barks, eyes still fixed on Angella. 

“You will both be silent,” Angella commands. She’s drawn herself up to her full height. Power blazes around her. “You have come uninvited into my home, and you will leave at once.” 

“Home?” the one called Morningstar sneers. “Is that what you call this little magic bauble and the pet family you’ve collected for yourself? It’s rather cute, but they’ll be dead in the blink of an eye. Did you forget your own immortality when you turned tail and ran? Even Michael here thinks you’ve been a coward, and his belly is as yellow as they come.” 

“Your decision making has been...questionable, sister,” the one called Michael said. He was a warrior, Catra could tell from his speech alone. The annoying sort who went on about honor before inevitably having none. “You had to know we would come.” 

_“_ **_Did you know I’d come?”_ **

  
Catra felt a hand, a claw, close around her throat. 

Her own face, bisected by darkness, by void, slinked into view. One eye was green, the other was emptier than space. Catra froze. Her stomach plummeted. The creature before her, claws at her throat, was her, the Catra who pulled the switch, who sought oblivion. She was nothing but anger and hatred and fury. 

Catra hated this person. This memory of what she’d been. Of what she was so desperately trying _not_ to be. 

The room flashed. 

The dining room shifted in color from the calming hues to an angry orange slanted with shadows. Glimmer vanished entirely. Micah reappeared spread eagle on the table, a hot, fiery blade run through his chest, pinning him to the table. 

Above, the ceiling was gone, and angels were doing battle. 

The one called Michael circled Angella in the sky. His sword was a flame, and he batted aside the bolts of glittering energy Angella shot his way. 

The one called Lucifer remained on the ground. 

He turned. 

“We have a newcomer it seems,” he drawled. 

Void-Catra spun around so she was holding her true self, the self who’d come to this place on a rescue, from behind. She took a hold of Catra’s hair, grinning with teeth that seemed long as knives. 

**_“Welcome to hell, Catra,”_ ** she hissed in her ear. She laughed, the sound of grinding glass and the smell of sulfur. **_“You came to rescue an angel. Thinking that would make you any less of a demon. Behold, the king of demons. He’s just like us, you see...”_ **

Lucifer grinned, and moved towards her. His eyes became black pits. His beautiful face became a horror, and long, twisted horns erupted from his forehead. 

**_“We belong to him….”_ **

It was true, she could see. In his gaze she saw it all. Her hands clawing into Adora’s back. Villages being trampled by a Horde onslaught. The fall of Salineas, the gate crumbling before her. Her own screaming face, twisted enough to break the whole world. 

This creature..this creature could see it...could see the sins crawling on her back, the rage in her heart. She slammed her eyes shut. She bit her own tongue hard enough to bleed. 

No. This wasn’t real. None of it was real. Catra fought back. She pushed back against the fear gathering in her gut, the madness that was closing in around her. This was made of memory, she reminded herself. Of hers and Angella’s alike. That meant, however little, she had sway here, she had power here. 

The past was set in stone. Today was new. This her, this Catra, was new. 

She slammed her elbow into her own void torn stomach. Void-Catra stumbled back, giving her the opening she needed. Flexing a claw, she lunged forward at the black winged monstrosity approaching her. 

When her attack found its mark, the world changed again. 

What comes next is the intersection of two battlefields. They blend together well. Both have Horde Banners fluttering above an armada of tanks, dark armored soldiers mustering forward. The differences are subtle, the line where the two separate noticeable to Catra only because she knows what to look for. One of the lines of Horde tanks is newer. The model didn;t change much over time, but the helmets the soldiers walking beside it wore were a dead giveaway. 

That army was led by Void-Catra, pushing towards the shape of some city. 

The other was led by a faceless Horde general, an enormous weapon held in their hands. They march against Angella. She wears battle armor much like Catra could see Glimmer wearing, very much the image of a Brightmoon monarch. Pale purples and light hues that stand in stark contrast to the black and red of the Horde. 

She lets loose a barrage of magic attacks. 

The two battles blend together, indistinguishable as the two womens memories bleed into one another. 

“Your majesty!” Catra calls. She sprints across the field. Deftly, she leaps over a falling soldier. A tank rolls by nearly clipping her shoulder. 

Angella turns at her approach, eyes narrowing. 

“Who are you?!” she demands. She looks Catra up and down, who very much stands out in her void-suit. 

“Please, your majesty,” Catra says, trying to remain calm. Behind her a tank round explodes, rolling heat over her shoulders. “You have to come with me. This place isn’t real.” 

Angella turns away at once. 

“Get away from here you fool. Can’t you see this is a battlefield? This is no place for you!” 

She turns and sends a glittering bolt into a nearby tank. 

“It’s not real,” Catra repeats. She steps to one side and narrowly avoids a tank round from across the field. “You’ve got to come with me, I’ve got to take you home.” 

**_“Do you even have a home?”_ **

Catra was ready this time. She turned on her heel and caught the foot of her void-self mid attack. Her assailant spun, long mane trailing behind her, and landed on all fours. She hissed, feral and malignant. 

**_“You’re a monster.”_ **

The words are guttural.

“I am,” Catra agrees. Her voice cracks. “But I’m trying not to be.” 

Void-Catra smirked. 

**_“Killing me won’t make anything right.”_ **

Salineas burns through her mind. Adora’s blood on her hands. 

“No. But it's a start.” 

She lunges at herself. 

And so, Catra dances with herself. It is a strange experience to physically fight ones self. She knows all her own moves of course. Know how she rolls from step to step, keeping mobile and circling in for a strike. It is different than fighting someone like Adora who had the reach of both a sword and of She-Ra. This fight is claw on claw. Cat to cat. 

She knew nothing of how her own species fought one another. But she imagined it might be something like this. 

As she fights, the timer on her wrist beeps. Half her time is gone. 

She is also well aware that nothing has stopped for this battle. The memory of two battlefields still rages. And Angella is very much not saved. 

Lucifer Morningstar stands before her. Now he is dressed in armor. Silver and black that stands out against the very red aura that flows off him like blood. He holds a long flail in his hands, it’s spiked end dragging across the ground. Catra notices in her battling that the bronze one, the one called Michael, is dead not ten feet away. His own sword is jammed through his throat. 

“You are not welcome here,” Angella hisses. “I left you behind long ago.” 

“You could’ve been a queen,” Morningstar drawls. “You insist you can lead an army. A rebellion. A kingdom. Then why did you run from me sister? Why did you not come when I called you? You wished for your freedom, then you ran from it!” 

His black wings unfurl, and, eyes wide with terror, Angella flees into the sky. 

A claw rakes across Catra’s cheek. 

She stumbles back, feeling the blood trickle down her face. 

**_“I CANNOT BE UNDONE!”_ **

A mass of pure shadow, of hatred, surrounds her. The images come faster. Blood. Pain. Death. Each of her sins jammed into her gut. In her mind's eye she sees She-Ra, not Adora, but the spirit of judgement, of goodness, coming to finish her off once and for all. 

She is slammed against the ground. A tooth cracks in her mouth. Her head rings. 

She looks up into two black pits. 

“No,” she whispers. Blood passes across her lips and onto her tongue. “No you can’t….killing you, that would be killing myself.” The weakest smile imaginable appears on her face. Her hand is on the lever again. The portal ready to ignite. “I’m...I’m done trying to do that. I want to live instead.” 

Adora’s smile. The stupidest, most wonderful thing in all the universe. 

Her arms reach up, and she pulls herself into an embrace. 

“You’re mine,” she says, voice drowned out by the shriek of the void. “I...I forgive you.” 

**_“WE CANNOT BE FORGIVEN!”_ **

“We can,” Catra pressed. Her grip tightened. The wound on her face stung. “Maybe not today. Not completely. But someday. We have to believe that. To try. I sound like a stuffy princess, don’t I?” She grins. “Guess those goody goods are rubbing off on me. We...we can only move forward. And you are NOT STOPPING ME!” 

The void vanishes. It becomes her. Catra is left alone on the ground, dazed. 

The sound of her timer beeping again, this time for five minutes, breaks her from her stupor. She runs as fast as she can. 

It was sort of incredible how quickly it all began to fall apart then. 

The energy the ship was feeding it was starting to simply not be enough. All of it came apart at the seams. Like the first portal, crackling, purple-white energy began to envelop everything, and Catra ran through it all. 

She found Angella unconscious and cold on what remained of Brightmoon Castle’s stone. The Moonstone had faded into nothing. 

“You are to be my sister's savior? You will deliver her from her failures?” 

She looked up. 

The dark angel, Lucifer, glowered down at her. He was not nearly as scary as the depths of her own darkness. A wound dominates his left side. Whatever he is, Catra realizes, he’s far from unbeatable. And, she thinks, she doesn’t have to beat him. 

On all fours she runs, faster than she ever has before. 

Sliding, she takes Angella onto one shoulder, and pivots. The portal is waiting. 

What came next should’ve been hard. For all that Angella would one day tell her of the beings she had called brothers, Lucifer in particular, it should have been a great challenge. But Catra had faced herself already. The enemy that would always be her greatest. 

Outrunning the so called ‘Lord of Hell’? 

Not a big deal. He's only a memory.

She leaps towards the portal, and Scorpia’s waiting pincer grabs her. Lucifer’s attack doesn't even touch them. 

Upon reentering the ship, she promptly passes out.

___________________________________________________________________________________  
  


When Angella wakes, she feels the pain at once. Every part of her aches. Her skin feels harsh as if rubbed raw by sand. Her muscles are aflame, and her wings, the right one especially, is awash in agony. Blearily, her eyes open and she sees a soft figure standing above her. The figure is framed by an overhead light that is all but blinding. 

A calloused but gentle hand finds her chin, and a glass vial is pressed to her lips. 

“Shhh, your majesty,” says a soothing voice as familiar, warm magic pours down her throat. “Relax. I need you to relax.” 

Angella relaxes and slowly the pain begins to dim. When her eyes open again some time has passed. Slowly, achily, she sits up. 

“Welcome back, your highness.” 

Angella blinks at the familiar face. Leaning, she supports herself with one arm. It is with this motion that she notices that one of her wings is streaked with black. 

“Princess Perfuma?” 

She knows the girl, the woman, now, but not very well. The first to join the reborn Princess Alliance. She is dressed in a long flowing dress and there are flowers in her hair. She is also, like Angela herself, sitting in a metallic room unlike any she’d seen before. 

Perfuma nods. 

“It’s good to see you awake.”

“Where-where am I?” 

Her memory was a patchwork of nonsense. Foremost she remembered taking hold of the Sword or Protection. What followed was a whirlwind of images. Memories that weren’t memories, life that was not living. Flashes of her past. Of her brothers who could not come for her coming for her. 

She had pushed aside that past eons ago, but it haunted her still. 

“You’re on a spaceship,” Perfuma explained gently. “About three years have passed. The war is over.” She offers a freckled smile. “We won. A lot has happened.”

Angella reaches out a hand and Perfuma takes it, pulling her into a full sitting position. 

“I was...in the portal, wasn’t I?”

Perfuma nods 

“You were. But Catra pulled you out.” She points, and Angella follows her finger to the cot at the makeshift infirmaries opposite end. There a feline young woman is stretched out, unconscious.

Three distinct lines mar her cheek. 

“The force captain,” Angella notes weakly. 

“Former force captain,” Perfuma corrects. “She turned coat by the end of the war. We...well we wouldn’t have won without her.”

Even in her pained daze, this brought a thousand new questions. She opens her mouth to ask them but Perfumas hand finds her shoulder and she is pushed down back onto the cot.

“Glimmer is safe,” the flora princess assures her. “Everyone is safe. Questions can come later, but for now you need sleep. You’ll get them all answered when you wake up ok?”

For such a willowy woman, Perfuma is quite forceful. 

Angella finds herself too drained to argue. And miraculously, she sleeps. 

___________________________________________________________

When Catra wakes, she can feel eyes upon her. She sits up, and turns to see the once dead queen of Brightmoon contemplating her. She is seated less than regally. Slumped slightly in an old chair, wings limp behind her. 

This is their first true meeting. 

“Hello, your majesty,” Catra croaks, wishing she could burrow her way out of the ship. 

“Hello Catra,” Angella replies. “Perfuma tells me you were my rescuer.” The statement is utterly neutral. 

“Yeah,” Catra grunts. She swings her legs out to sit on the cot. Her tail feels like it had been ripped off and sewn back on at a strange angle. “Your brothers are pricks.”

Angella snorts.

“On that we can agree.”

They do not discuss Angella family that day. It is an old, ancient subject that is surrounded by regret and pain, one best kept to memory. Years later Angella will tell her the tale. But not that day.

They fall silent for a moment. 

“You will answer my questions.” This is not a question. Catra nods. “Good. Princess Perfuma was quite insistent you be the one to tell me.”

Catra silently cursed her friend and therapist. There was a healing element to this, surely, but that didn’t mean she had to like it. 

The once queens voice grows softer. 

“Glimmer is well?” 

Catra nods. 

“She’s good,” she could list a thousand of her daughters' accomplishments, the coalition, the leading of Brightmoon into the new post-war age. Could mention her betrothal to Bow. But first- “King Micah is alive.” 

Angella’s eyes widen to the point her face looks like it could break. 

_“What?”_

“He was never dead,” Catra explains. “He was exiled to Beast Island.” 

“No one survives Beast Island,” Angella seethes, though her expression betrays hope. 

“He’s the most powerful sorcerer there is. He survived. He...he tried to tell you, in the portal.” 

The horror of recognition creeps into the queen's angelic face. Catra goes on. 

“Adora and Bow went to rescue him. He fought in the last leg of the war. He’s back in Brightmoon now.” Probably worried and angry along with everyone else. 

Angella stares at her after that. A whole minute passes in silence, and Catra comes to understand in that time how this being, this _eternal_ being, had ruled Brightmoon for eons. There was power in her gaze. Power enough that it broke the shell of Catra’s exhaustion, and made her feel the maelstrom of emotions that lurked underneath. Triumph, pride, and the shadowy remnants of guilt. 

“Tell me the whole story,” Angella says finally. “From the portal onwards. What happened with the rest of the war, and how did you, a Horde captain who locked me in that hell, come to join the rebellion?” 

Catra took a deep, shaky breath. She had known this was going to happen should she be successful. So of course she had done little to rehearse, or compensate for the fact that she was still not so great at talking to people at length. She’d hoped that Angella would be able to speak to Glimmer or Adora first. 

Nevertheless, she told the story. 

Angella listened closely. She sat up in her chair, wings settling, regal and defined, interrupting only on occasion with another question or her reactions. 

After nearly two hours, Catra’s story caught up with the present. 

“-Bow got me the reservoir of power from the moonstone. Still not sure how he did that without Glimmer knowing. Probably rigged something together out of wire and sticks, knowing him.” 

Angella smiles and Catra blushes. 

“I’ve always liked that boy,” she says, looking down at her hands. “So clever and kind.” 

“He’s the nicest person I’ve ever met,” Catra says, meaning every word. “Glimmer’s lucky.” She can’t help but grin toothily. “She and Bow are engaged.” 

Angella’s gaze snaps up. 

_“I knew it.”_

The two women, one a semi-divine monarch, the other a Horde brat who’d managed to claw her way into being something more, shared a laugh. 

When the laughter fades, Angella contemplates her once more. 

“That is quite a story Catra,” she says, quietly. 

“A lot….a lot has happened,” Catra agreed. She swallows. 

“Thank you.” 

Catra physically recoils. 

“‘Thank you’?” she repeats, aghast. “Why the hell would you thank me? I’m the one who trapped you in that nightmare.” 

“You are,” Angella agrees. “And that was less than pleasant. So much so that if I had the strength I’d give you quite the smack. Though I don’t know if I could match Frosta even at full strength.” 

Catra couldn’t help but rub at her cheek. She couldn’t leave that detail out of the story. She was still feeling that punch. 

“But you also saved my daughter's life. At the cost of your own. That merits thanks no matter the circumstances. You’ve done much since then, if your story is to be believed. Including coming to pull me out of there. You have my thanks for that as well.” 

Catra says nothing. Her gaze falls to the floor. Pain pricks at her eyes. 

“You’re too nice to me...just like them.”

Tears began, and she couldn’t stop them. 

“I’m sorry,” she chokes. “I’m so, so sorry.” 

The tears become sobs soon after and she buries her face in her hands. She’d have preferred anger, she realizes. Preferred the screams, the condemnation that not Glimmer, or Micah, or Adora, or Bow, or any of them would place on her. They had been understanding. Forgiving. And she knew, she had always known, that she did not deserve it. 

“You took Adora’s place-” she blubbers. “You stopped her. Saved her,from me! I-I owe you everything! I-”

A soft hand finds her cheek. 

She looks up. A tired but kind face awaits her. 

“Shhh,” Angella soothes. “Shh…” 

Catra takes a breath, tears stinging on her cheeks like trails of fire. 

“You’ve never been a child, have you?” Angella asks quietly. Catra says nothing. Her mouth is dry. Angella goes on. “I saw it much too late with Adora. The way the Horde, that woman, twisted your minds. Weaned the two of you on nothing but pain.” She shakes her head, bitterly, ruefully. “Molded you into weapons. We used Adora the same way as She-Ra. We loved her yes, but we also used her-”

“But you didn’t!” Catra insisted. “You stopped her, saved her!” 

“I realized my mistake,” Angell says calmly. “I was able to see the child and not the legend. You did as well. You saw her, and not the sword. That saved her, and you, and everything else. I...saw your memories, while you were in the portal with me. As you saw mine.” 

Catra gasps. 

“I am starting to remember. I saw what happened at Etheria’s heart.”

She gives Catra’s cheek a pat, then sits back. A long sigh escapes her. 

“I am a failure, Catra,” she explains. She holds up a hand, a queenly gesture, to stop Catra from speaking. “You saw that for yourself. I have been a queen, yet my legacy is one of cowardice and failure. When my own family went to war against itself I fled into the stars. I made a new home for myself, built a kingdom, a family, yet when that home came under attack, I could do nothing. I hid in my fortress and the Horde plundered Etheria of its children. Like you. The first alliance of princesses burned under my hands….”

“You’re the failure?” Catra questions “You know what I’ve done. You know what kind of monster I am.” 

“I don’t see a monster,” Angella says. Firm. “I see a woman working to make right her mistakes. Admirable, and rare in any world. You put together quite the expedition here. With Hordak, of all people.” She leans forward. “He’s just...wandering around, after the war?” 

“Adora spared him,” Catra explains. Her story had been light on political details. She hadn’t touched on the numerous alliances and off world treaties. “Glimmer exiled him from Etheria. On penalty of death.” 

“And he helped to rescue me,” Angella says. “I’d say I might still be in the portal, but I don’t think I would imagine such a group.” She pauses a moment, breathing in and out. Her body is still weak. The black of her wing stands out even against the metal of the ship. “You are very strange, former force captain Catra. Very strange indeed. You have done many things wrong in your life. But unlike many, you can admit that. You were given a second chance. And you used it to give one to me.”

She rose, legs wobbling. Catra rose to steady her, helping her back to her own cot. There are many things yet said between them. They will speak again. But at that moment, Angella is tired. 

Before she sits down, she gives Catra's shoulder a firm squeeze. She offers a smile so like Glimmers that Catra can't help but return it. 

“You have my forgiveness, Catra. Though I still owe you a smack.” 

Catra swallows the lump in her throat, and the objections in her mind. 

“Gonna surprise me with it, huh?” 

“Oh yes. You love Adora very much, but not even that can save you from some payback.” She grins, a sort of smile that seemed so out of place on such a being. “I can be very petty.” 

“Figured Glimmer got it from you. Micah is a saint.” 

“Why do you think I married him?”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Angella’s promised smack comes three years later, on Catra’s wedding day. 

It was the perfect way to get the drop on her. Catra should have seen it coming. But she was too occupied with preparations, with getting dressed for the event not an hour away, that she barely notices when the door to her dressing room opens. She assumes its Perfuma or perhaps Netossa. 

She looks up, and a smack hits her cheek. 

It isn’t hard. It doesn’t even hurt. But it does surprise her. 

“Congratulations,” the queen mother says with a smile. Catra gapes after her as she leaves. 

**Author's Note:**

> The inclusion of actual biblical angels in Angella's backstory is basically a way of establishing her as an old, cosmic being. Think of them in the way angels work in say, Vertigo Comics, where they're more or less just like other mythical beings like the Olympians or the Aesir. A lot of it was vague on purpose, just to give Angella a sense of ancientness and mystery.


End file.
